Living as a hat
by the-one-who-writes-things
Summary: Whats a day in the life of the sorting hat? Surely being a hat is not much fun. But then again, what if its a magical hat living with Albus Dumbledore? That life might be better than it sounds, or maybe even worse.
1. Chapter 1

The sorting hat was bored. '_What is the point,' _It thought, '_of being a hat? That's the real question here.'_ Sure, its poetic skills were great. That was worth living for, except for the day he was placed upon the head of that boy, Snape. In the world of hats, Snape was known as a disgrace. The boy's head was far too greasy. But what do you know; the sorting hat was forced (with trouble, of course,) to perch on his hair. And for a while too! Snape had so much going on in his head; that the hat had sat there for five whole minutes until deciding upon Slytherin. But the greasy head of Severus Snape was another story. The story now is the one which tells of the sorting hats poetic skills. '_Why am I referred to as the sorting hat? I mean, sure, I do the sorting, but still, I need a proper name.' _And with that, it decided. Its new name would be O'Bryan.

And so, we may begin again. O'Bryan was bored, until Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore walked in. It was important to say his whole name, as to the fact that if you don't, who knows what Albus you're talking about? Percival? Wulfric? Brian? Dumbledore?

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore picked up O'Bryan. "What have you been doing, my dear sorting hat? Have you thought about a new song to sing to me as I fall asleep?" "Please, refer to me as O'Bryan from now on. Sir, may I call you Alby?" Alby looked flattered. "Why yes O'Bryan, you may. Now, about that song? It is getting late, and I would rather appreciate a lullaby." "Of course, Alby. May I sing it to you now?" Alby considered it for a moment, in which the Sorting hat cursed his mouth, and tried desperately to come up with a song that currently didn't exist. Finally, Alby spoke. "My apologies, but I would like to try out the new Bubble bath Professor McGonagall gave me earlier. O'Bryan quietly sighed with relief as Alby left to the room of requirement. Now, to think of a song.

After what seemed like hours, Alby finally came out of the room, smelling suspiciously of lemons. O'Bryan was angry. For some reason, lemons always made him feel that way. "Sir, what was the bubble bath scented like?" Alby grinned. "Why, it was my very favourite scent. He reached deep into his pocket and pulled out a bottle. "Lemon drops." Now please, I want my song." He tossed the bottle aside, (which Fawkes caught,) and lay down in his bed. O'Bryan took a deep breath, (or as deep as a hat can take,) and started singing.

_Twinkle, twinkle, little lemon _

_Lemons live in place called Emon._

_Up above the night sky,_

_There is a satellite in the sky._

_Tracking Emon's every move,_

_That is why they live in doom._

O'Bryan finished dramatically, with a little bow from the top of his head, then looked over. Alby was asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

"Rise and shine, sleeping beauty!" O'Bryan woke with a start. How is it that hats could sleep, anyways? Gilderoy Lockhart was at Alby's bed, which stood in the middle of the room. "What is it, my fair maiden?" he asked his pillow, kissing it. O'Bryan was a tad confused. Alby could be very... strange, at times. He turned his thoughts back to the scene. Alby suddenly sat up, and at the top of his lungs, yelled; "I HATE SOAP OPERA'S SO CUCUMBERLY MUCH! MY WHOLE LIFE IS ONE!?" This last bit was, indeed, phrased as a question. '_You know what, my own self? Me and you both, we want to know what's going on in his old hairy head.' _Luckily, at that precise moment, Gilderoy Lockhart picked O'Bryan up. "I bet you want to find out what he's dreaming of, O'Bryan." "Of course I d – wait a minute. How do you know my new name?" Lockhart stuttered. "Umm...a...o-occlumency?" O'Bryan would have facepalmed, had he had arms. "I'm a hat. You need a brain for occlumency, and I, as I previously said, am a hat. We don't exactly have brains. Nor do you, in that matter. I bet a donkey could beat you in a game of poker." Lockhart sighed. "It is true. My mother was a werewolf. Therefore I do not have much knowledge." Now O'Bryan was really confused. "What?" Lockhart grinned. "Ki-dding!" After a moment, O'Bryan finally understood that Lockhart had basically just called werewolves brainless. _'That's really offensive you cheesehead.' _He thought. That was not true. Werewolves were just as smart as other people. "Whether or not your mother was a werewolf, how do you know my name?" Lockhart's smile faded. "Ah, about that." He looked down. O'Bryan was tired of waiting. "What, what is it? How do you know? We've already established that it was not occlumency." Lockhart looked up at him, guilt growing on his face. "I may or may not have been spying on you. Yesterday night. You know, Tuesday? Eleven fifteen? I wanted to see if Dumbledore had a pet Neville." Alby whispered something about hating someone named Zeke, and both Lockhart and O'Bryan remembered their master plan about looking into his mind that nobody actually confirmed. Without another word, (but lots of eye contact) Lockhart picked up O'Bryan, and set him on Alby's head. What O'Bryan saw next could not possibly be described, but the closest you could come to describing it was: Alby sitting on a Janitor who had a nametag with the name Zeke written on it in pink, licking a white Popsicle, with nothing on except his extra long beard wrapped around him to form a sort of chiton, which went down to his ankles, then wrapped around Zeke's hand. _'Where on earth, or wherever Alby has been, does he get these ideas of his?' _Basically, Alby was ordering Zeke to clean up after Fawkes dies, and Zeke had apparently disagreed. So Alby had tried whatever he thought was a form of torture, which was exactly what he had been doing when O'Bryan saw his dream for the first (and only) time. The last thing O'Bryan remembered, was circling around on Alby's head like a drunken merry-go-round (they don't get drunk, do they?) in a flash of bright white light.


	3. Chapter 3

Gilderoy Lockhart was at loss for words. '_What?' _Was truly the only thing he could say about the situation, as he stared at the glowing hat?

O'Bryan meanwhile, was very confused. What on earth was going on? Why was he suddenly a beacon? Maybe Emon was punishing him for making them seem helpless in his song. Did Emon really exist? That would be weird, but it wouldn't be more surprising than what was going on now. But then, all of a sudden, it stopped. '_Okay then...' _He reached up a hand to touch his face. _'Wait, WHAT? HANDS? LEGS? FACE?' _He was human then. Alright. Might have been worse. Lockhart looked at him like he just danced the cancan in front of him, and then spoke. "O'Bryan? Wha-What? What just happened? Am I seeing things? Did Potter do something to me again? What's going on? Why are you human? I'M SO CONFUSED-" O'Bryan clapped a hand over his mouth to stop him from saying anything else. "Got a mirror?" Lockhart looked at him strangely. "Why would I have a mirror? What makes you say that?" O'Bryan rolled his eyes. (Which would take some getting used to.) "You're Gilderoy Lockhart. You're something like the vainest person in the world. If you didn't have a mirror on you, I'd die of shock. Now give it to m." Lockhart mumbled something about 'no respect', and pulled a mirror out of his robes. O'Bryan took it, and looked at himself. He had (very) curly black hair, and creepy grey/blue eyes. He looked to be in his late teens, either eighteen or nineteen, even though he was actually somewhere over about a thousand fifty years old in reality. But he definitely wasn't complaining about this. If anything he was happy about it. After a moment he chucked the mirror back at Lockhart, (who caught it with a whimper, and hugged it close,). He had an idea, but first he had to tell Lockhart. He turned to him. "Hey Locky!"I have an idea!" Lockhart looked at him. "Locky? Really, O'Bryan?" "Do not judge my choice of words, for they are far better than yours." O'Bryan said very matter-of-factly, after a moment of thinking. "Anyways, my brilliant plan is to take a Hogwarts student, and steal kidnap them for an adventure. Sounds fun."

Lockhart rubbed the back of his neck. "It does sound very strange, but- oh, I don't know. It sounds risky." O'Bryan made a very annoyed click. "I don't care. Come on." And they made their way out of Alby's office, and down to the Gryffindor common room.

Upon entering, they both immediately started looking for the right student. They searched in silence for a while, but then Lockhart made his way towards O'Bryan, and whispered, "I found the perfect one!" they quickly went back to the area Lockhart had come from, and O'Bryan found himself staring down at the sleeping face of Seamus Finningan. He considered this option for a moment, but then he noticed Dean Thomas sleeping in the next bed. "We can't take Finnigan. Thomas over there will worry about his best friend." Lockhart shrugged. "Then we'll take him too." O'Bryan gave this a fresh thought, then straitened up, and said "Okay. We'll take both. But how do we get there? And anyways, where _is_ there?" Lockhart frowned; apparently he hadn't thought that part of the plan through yet. All of a sudden, his face lit up. "We could take them to Emon! And we'll have no trouble getting there; I can apparate!" O'Bryan grinned. They had a plan.


End file.
